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Sex tech made the news again, this time it was MTV spouting off on the “evolution” of sex. I say “spouting off” because while columnist Tess Barker may be clever & know her tech, I’m not sure if is all that sex savvy. She writes:

The old version of phone sex was always a little ridiculous, but “teledildonic” devices such as We-Vibe (along with its We-Connect app) and OhMiBod allow partners to create pleasurable vibrations from afar. These days, distance can make more than the heart grow fonder.

What’s ridiculous about “the old version” of phone sex, Barker? Talking together, be it dirty fantasy play or emotionally intimate talk, can lead to a mind blowing, orgasmic, thrilling fuck fest; because while it may employ individual masturbation it also engages the mightiest sex organ of them all, The Brain, via the ultimate connection ~ a human one.

While your partner may not be able to touch your body via phone sex, they can touch your mind. You can share a sexy mind meld, with or without the Star Trek role play.

As for the “teledildonics”, there are other ways to achieve that without pushing a button on an app; play control freak with your partner’s mind and tell them the what, where, when, why, and how of the masturabatory action. Be it their hand or a toy, controlling the scene and the action is hot. Super hot.

You can come together to cum together, as opposed to, say, having a lazy person plunk their fingers on a keypad like some monkey playing the piano comedy bit.

But just as two minds may be better than one, two minds may also be better than one and a trendy bit of sex tech.

Science and technology will make innovations in sexual toys and, once they figure out the truth of the female body, even perhaps in sexuality itself ~ but, as I’ve said before, it won’t replace the human components. It can’t.

Sex with robots will be no more therapeutic in its release than a vibrator made 130 years ago. The stimulation of our genitalia occurs, but what of our brains, minds and souls?

Sure, I admit that technology & culture are fluid bump-and-grind influencers, driving everything from changes in actual human needs to the “Because we can!” advancement mentality.

But is every innovation a real advancement? Does tech meet real needs, or does it only expose that we hunger for something that cannot be manufactured or produced with ones and zeros?

A case in point is Invisible Boyfriend (and sister site, Invisible Girlfriend). Make no mistake; the idea behind such services is not to provide human companionship, but to help the client lie to well-meaning family & friends by offering “proof” of a non-existent relationship partner. You know, to get mom off your back about being single. For a monthly fee, the platforms promise “virtual and real-world social proof” of your invisible “relationship” via texts, voicemails, and even snailmail. Mark Wilson gave it a try and found the experience, well, I’ll say a bit clumsy:

Syntax problems. Lazy wikipediaing. Look, I knew my invisible girlfriend was fake, but I began picturing what must be going on here—thousands of people typing out text messages, many pretending to be another gender, in a strange symphony of digital escorts.

Wilson’s description of his experience isn’t far off the technical reality, as he explains:

[I] learn that Invisible Boyfriend relies a bit on the artificial intelligence of chat bots, but most requests are handled another way: The St. Louis startup has teamed up with a fellow St. Louis company named Crowdsource, which manages a frontend interface to Amazon’s mechanical turk. That means Invisible Boyfriend sends your texts to a sea of micro laborers, who pick up all sorts tiny tasks during the day. They see very basic information about the character they play and text you back.

Again, in defense of Invisible Boyfriend & Invisible Girlfriend, co-founder Matthew Homann has clearly stated, “We’re not trying to help you believe you’re in a relationship. We’re trying to provide that proof [to others].” And, in fact, the sites themselves address the issue of “love” in the FAQs:

My Invisible Boyfriend… will I love him?

Seems a bit far-fetched, and a sit down between you and Jerry Springer may not be out of the question.

But nevertheless, the issue of technology ~ even that designed to meet a human “need” (I use quotes because I still don’t get the need to lie about being happily single) ~ has some issues. Not just the clumsiness of new technology, but the reality of being able to meet the human desire for connection. More from Wilson’s article:

Homann says that some early beta testers can get quite attached to their invisible partners. He describes one woman who has had an invisible boyfriend for a month and a half now. She flirts with him, but she tells him secrets, too. She’ll even ask him questions, like Siri, about movies playing in the neighborhood. (Homann says that’s an off-label use, but there’s no reason a mechanical turk can’t Google something for you.)

…”Even though I know how it works, behind the curtain, when I get a text message, I feel compelled to respond,” [Homann] says. “Technology has compelled us to respond even when it’s not necessary.”

These comments evoke visions of the film Her, in which—minor spoiler—humanity is overcome by the virtual companionship of conversational software. Right now there are limiters in place. The mechanical turk makes a lousy companion. And you can’t sext—guidelines prohibit the turk from responding to explicit content.

Which prompts the question: Should Invisible Boyfriend be thinking beyond the novelty factor? Could you fall in love with an Invisible Boyfriend? Or, could you at least sext with him? “If the marketplace wants to demand something, we certainly have the capability to deliver it,” Homann says. “We can train a workforce comfortable with adult-themed content, but it’s not something we’re trying to do now.”

While Homann likely ponders the quest for money from all sides (including both the large sums to be made from adult entertainment as well as the negative aspects of getting funding with an “adult” label), Wilson nearly hits the nail on the head:

Telephone based for-hire companionship—be it sexual or conversational—certainly isn’t a new idea. Invisible Boyfriend’s $25/100 text message premise isn’t so far from the pay-per-minute 1-900 psychics and phone sex lines of yesteryear. The business model might be similar, but the social experience is admittedly different. Those were 1:1 conversations with real people.

Yes, the one-on-one is the vital part. It’s the real human connection that matters here; even when naughty bits aren’t touching, we want to know we are in touch with another person. This is something many phone sex operators know well. And not just those of “yesteryear”, but those who thrive today, many of whom have expanded their phone sex to be true digital courtesans.

This desire to connect, human to human, isn’t limited to body parts only. Not even when we just want to get off. And the tech world, its columnists included, would be wise to realize it.

PS Also, please stop bashing everything that’s “old” or from “yesteryear”; doggy-style & missionary have been around forever and they still fuckin’ work.

sexual role-play: / sěk’shōō-əl rōl-ˌplā / an erotic form of role-play: sexual behavior where two or more people act out roles in a sexual fantasy.

“Have you ever found yourself wanting to do something wicked and completely against your nature?” he asked in sultry whisper.

“There might have been an occasion or two,” she replied. “What about you?”

“I have found myself wanting,” he said, reaching up and removing one of the pins that held her hair up. A long strand of hair slipped down and fell over her shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked in a voice heavy with growing desire.

She shook her head and he smiled knowingly.

“I didn’t think so. Want to know how I knew?”

“Yes,” she replied breathlessly.

The back of his hand brushed over her nipple and she sucked in her breath as a searing ache surged to life between her legs.

“These beautiful, rigid peaks…they always give you away,” he groaned, dipping his head and gently taking one between his teeth through the thin veil of fabric.

She cried out, her fingers moving through his thick tumble of hair, urging him closer.

A few moments of sweet ecstasy passed and he stood, placing his hands on either side of her face, his probing gaze meeting hers behind each other’s masks. Her lips parted slightly and he swooped in, capturing her mouth in a hungry kiss that left her aching for so much more.

Slowly, he backed her against the wall, the chill of the cold tile against her back startled her and she pulled away. “We…we can’t do this…not here…” This was crazy, she thought, muffled voices of the party guests in the adjoining ball room reminding her exactly where they were.

“Yes, we can…you know you want to,” he groaned, pressing his hips against hers, the telltale bulge of his rigid cock leaving no doubt of his desire.

“Oh damn,” she gasped, a wave of damp need soaking her in response.

His fingers trailed down the delicate column of her neck and across her shoulders, making their way down the length of her arms, leaving goose bumps in their wake.

Threading his fingers through hers, he lifted her hands above her head, capturing them both in one large hand and pinning them against the wall.

The other hand slid down the front of her body and over her hips, slipping purposefully under the silken fabric of her renaissance themed gown.

He drew back in surprise when he discovered she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “My, my…you are just full of surprises,” he said, his fingers exploring her further, moving them expertly over her mound, slipping between lips swollen and damp with desire.

His thumb brushed against her clit and she struggled not to cry out, the fear of getting caught only adding to the eroticism of the moment. He repeated to motion again and again as she pressed herself against his hand.

“Do you want me to stop?” he teased, caressing her clit in a circular motion.

“Yes. No.”

He slid his hand further down, spreading her swollen lips, exposing the entrance to her pussy.

“So wet…so ready…but ready for what?” he whispered against her ear.

She groaned but couldn’t answer him.

“Come on. Tell me what you want,” he urged, slowly sliding two fingers into her damp heat.

About The Author: Katherine Snowe discovered her penchant for writing and sex at a young age but it wasn’t until recently she delved into the blissful art of combing both. Published in erotic romance and erotica, weaving an arousing tale for the pleasure of another is one of her greatest passions. She delivers that same blending of the written word with the aural arts as a phone sex companion specializing in GFE, indulging her clients with erotica meant to stimulate and satisfy, as well as immersive roleplaying guaranteed to provide an intense visual and physical escape. You can find her at her website, and follow her on Twitter.

“Whip me, beat me, make me write bad checks.” It’s a classic humorous line about BDSM (though the origins are murky), but that last bit would seem to hit at the heart of the plethora of financial games and gains now available on the Internet.

[Erotic humiliation or sexual emotional masochism isn’t only something men seek; but since men have been given the cultural gift of participating in sexual commerce (i.e. buying what they want, controlling porn, sex work, and other adult consumption more than women), it is no surprise that men seem to have the most options in terms of pay-as-you-go erotic humiliation entertainment.]

There are many sex workers, real world and virtual, as well as those in the BDSM community who consider things like financial domination to be a really bad thing. Bad both for those men who pay (often called “pay pigs”), who are seen as victims of a sham or fraud, as well as bad for women who they see as entering the field looking for “easy money.” …The real perils, on either side, present themselves when people fail to understand the power exchange dynamic of the fetish or thrill.

So today we’re going to explore some of the mind games that exist within BDSM.

Playing with notions of humiliation, rejection, shame, guilt, anxiety, etc. is playing with safety, trust, and fear much the same way corporal BDSM arts do. Sexual fantasies of abandonment and humiliation are therefore the emotional equivalent of fantasies of kidnappings and rape. Consequently, erotic humiliation, fundamentally, is consenting to psychological fear play. But what does that mean, and how does that work?

As with nearly any sex fantasy, it all begins in the mightiest sex organ of all: The brain. Specifically, in the amygdala.(Shown in purple, right by that arrow, in this illustration.)

Part of the limbic system, which links emotion with basic motives (like food and sex), the amygdala is what activates our natural “fight-or-flight” response. Along with being the brain’s “fear center”, studies suggest that the amygdala used information about fear and safety to process sexual arousal. Yes, sexual arousal can be part fear. And it goes past the similarity in physiological changes (such as accelerated breathing and heart rate, constriction of the peripheral blood vessels, and the like). Just as physical pain provides a rush of endorphins, emotional pain or fear triggers a release of adrenaline which heightens sexual arousal. I’ll let neuroscientist John Montgomery, Ph.D., explain:

Strong sexual desire, although hardly what most of us would think of as a ‘survival-mode’ or ‘fight-or-flight’ response, has also been shown, perhaps surprisingly, to activate all the main components of the so-called ‘stress’ response. What may therefore happen biochemically in the brains of people who are noticeably anxious or afraid, for example, is that the stress hormones released in the brain by the anxiety or fear may mingle with, and enhance the effects of, the stress hormones and other neurochemicals that are involved in sexual desire. Since all survival-mode states appear to release stress hormones in the brain, any such state can therefore potentially become confused with sexual desire, or can heighten any authentic sexual attraction or desire that may already exist. Thus if at least some other factors – such as raw physical appeal – are present that attract two people to each other, stress hormones from survival-mode states they may be experiencing can potentiate the stress hormones from the actual sexual attraction and generate an extra ‘charge’ that may masquerade as love or as an intense, extra-special attraction.

I play with aspects of fear and arousal in many ways, most notably in my erotic paranormal and sci-fi/fantasy stories. Whether it is a terrified submissive elfin sex slave or a terrifying ancient demon raping a human male, it’s the same dynamic. …But I do think most authors play with fears on some level. The good ones, anyway. It’s part of the drama, the conflict, that drives the story forward and makes it interesting. When working with sexual subject matter, it is even more delicious!

I think when it’s in a story, people understand.. It’s more seductive — and sensual even — than things like findom and blackmail because “money” just makes it all seem more graphic, more crass — somehow seems to cheapen it. But fundamentally, it’s the same thing. …It’s sort of like the rather imaginary distinction between “erotica” and “porn.” But the mere fact that money is part of it, there’s a significant real world aspect. I know many of my gentlemen callers get off all over again when they see their credit card or banking statements, and then again when they imagine their wives or bosses will discover the “missing money.” That real world pinch doesn’t wake them from the dream, but rather re-immerses them in it!

Yes, the monetary trail is in fact a large part of the thrill. As Rose said, the fantasy continues (and some could argue that any large payments from the pay piggies are simply paying it forward, justly compensating the sex worker in terms of fantasy installments yet to come).

Since social rewards and punishments are feared as strongly as physical rewards and pain, humiliation over taboos also comes into play. Just as there’s a thrill in getting caught having sex in public, being caught for your kink is a different sort of vulnerability & exposure. This is where the various forms of financial domination blackmail comes in.

But on the other side of the coin, some erotic humiliation seekers are exhibitionists who want others to know of and even see their degradation. Sometimes this is simply a matter of confessing their sins to their Mistresses; other times, it’s a matter of doing so in public, such as on Twitter in text and photos. (See Mistress Magick.) And the pros use such confessions and photos as proof of their own desirability too.

Lynn says there are all sorts of humiliation themes, “from a specific thing, like classic small penis humiliation, race, or crossdressing; to ass worship and ridiculing their overall ‘loserness’ or male inferiority compared to your female greatness”, but it isn’t easy:

Humiliation was one of the most difficult things for me to learn. As a woman, as a human, you learn not to make fun of the insecurities of others and it becomes a difficult thing to overcome. I recall clearly when a phone sex client who was now wheelchair bound as the result of an accident wanted me to humiliate him. I mean hardcore humiliation. Not the usual sort of small penis humiliation fantasy, but to humiliate him verbally in very degrading ways. Including about his real-world limitations and disabilities.

At first, the idea made my stomach turn. But he taught me about the thrills of humiliation and how important it was not to deny him of his sexual fantasies just because he was disabled and I wanted to be “nice”. He’d had this humiliation fetish his whole sexual life and just because his physical sex life had changed greatly, that desire hadn’t changed. He understood the emotional difficulty — heck, he lived it. I mean it was difficult enough for him to have relationships, let alone ask a woman who’d begun to care for him to verbally abuse him as he sat in his wheelchair. But he needed it. And this was precisely why he was paying for professional services.

Of course, not all the degradation is sexual. However, non-sexual activities may become sexualized. Here, femdoms condition their male submissives to associate even mundane activities, from repetitive writing assignments to toilet cleaning, with sexual arousal. Each femdom, pro or not, employs & exploits fear in their own style to raise arousal ~ and always with the submissive’s consent.

One phone sex femdome, Trailer Trash Angel, employs a mix of tactics, including the “humiliation of doing such dirty deeds for a lowly trailer trash girl — what if their friends & family knew!”

Along with that bratty class distinction, she always employs a combination of laughter at their expense along with orgasm control and denial:

I and have a “no touching without My permission rule”. And believe me — I know when it is broken. And then they pay. Boy, do they pay. Either with their wallets, or the hard way, by being blocked. I’m pretty hardcore. And proud of it too.

One girl, another PSO, asked me to participate in her “spotlight interview”, but then, when she got my answers, said she wanted a “more authentic experience” and that I was an “over the top character”. So she didn’t post the interview.

She totally didn’t get it. This isn’t my “job”. I don’t do this because I have to do it. I do it because I can — and because I like it. I’m not “a character”; this is my life. I haven’t paid for anything in years, not a computer nor having my dad’s ’57 Ford completely restored. (One special pay piggy just bought me a ’47 Ford pickup and there’ll be piggies to pay to restore it too.) Meanwhile, that PSO had to go out and get a day job because she “couldn’t make the phone sex hustle pay the bills.” I, as usual, have the last laugh.

Often these fantasies include female non-engagement, where the woman seems barely involved in the sex act. In some cases, like this Japanese video, it’s unclear if the woman is the submissive object enduring the act. In other cases, like in this video, she may just be bored and givethe guy a handi so that he leaves her alone. In the latter, the humiliation thrill is that the barely present bored person has complete control of you — even if they’re not interested in you.

On the web, or, more aptly on the telephone, this sort of passive non-engagement is known as an “ignore call.”

On these calls, the Mistress, Goddess, femdomme, etc. may take your call (for a price), but she won’t be feigning politeness or pretending to listen to you just to spare your feelings. Trailer Trash Angel explains:

It’s a more subtle form of findom, really. The pay piggies pay per minute (and usually at a higher rate than other calls) to have you not talk to them. Seriously. I answer the phone, then I put it down and go about my business. If the loser is lucky, I’ll put him on speaker so he can hear what I am doing. If he’s really really lucky, he can hear me and my girlfriends as we are out and about shopping, mocking him every now and then for not being worthy of our time and paying to be ignored — at a higher rate, of course.

If this all sounds simple, it’s not. And that’s one of the concerns, that women are jumping on the erotic humiliation bandwagon thinking they can become “insta-dommes“, and acheive financial freedom. This “just sitting on your ass” mentality, of course, also leads to clients who are not satisfied and badmouth the whole thing. Lynn has the final words of wis-domme:

Like most things, especially those under the BDSM umbrella, these are broad terms that cover many aspects, many shades… When it comes to humiliation, you can’t just assume he wants you to make fun of his small dick any more than you can assume that a ‘regular’ submissive wants to be flogged. Just because he enjoys humiliation doesn’t mean he wants financial domination. This isn’t a one-size-fits-all sort of a thing.

Knowing some psychology, so you can push those buttons, is important. Communication — discovering the specific turn-ons and turn-offs — is essential. Ask questions! Usually an honest conversation leads not only to understanding but to arousal. Most especially when a submissive into humiliation is confessing! But you’re still going to have to lead; you are, after all, the femme domme.

I stood nervously behind the closed doors of the moving elevator that went straight to the executive suites. I was late. I knew it. And more importantly, I knew he knew it.

Once the silver doors opened, I dashed across the marble foyer to the locked glass lobby doors — my high heels click-clacking my arrival, echoing in the empty place. At the security doors I slid my security card through the slot. The security green light came on, it’s accompanying “beep” seemed ridiculously loud, and I was admitted. I scampered as quickly as I could across the carpeted floor, smoothing my skirt and my hair as I went — no need to look disheveled upon my arrival and meet with even more disapproval.

Upon arrival at this office door, I paused and took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

“Enter,” came the deep stern male response.

I entered the room, silently shutting the door behind myself, and approached the front of his desk.

He rose to his feet and hooked his finger, calling me over to him. I did as he bade and strode to stand in front of him, keeping my eyes downcast the whole time.

He cupped his hand beneath my chin and made me look at him. His expression matched the serious tone of his voice. I trembled a bit but did my best to meet his gaze even after he released my chin.

“I hired you for one reason — and one reason only: to service the executives,” he said in a stern tone. “Nearly everyone takes cream in their coffee, and you will provide it. Fresh, and on the spot, on time, every morning. And whenever else they ask for it.”

He reached over and using just one finger expertly flipped open the buttons on my blouse. “Now serve me that cup of coffee. And then we will discuss your punishment for being late today.”

I honestly don’t know how many times I say this (at least the don’t-insult-other-women part). What astounds me and makes me sad is the number of women who also engage in this behavior. If you think someone is amazing, tell them they’re amazing! You don’t have to tell them they are better then so-and-so to make them feel good – at least, you shouldn’t have to.

You’d do well to remember all of this in your self-talk. It’s easy if you just stop comparing people ~ including ceasing comparing yourself to others.

A vintage (1968) advertisement from Western Electric for the “Picturephone” ~ and you just know this was used for erotic fun. All communication and entertainment technology has been used for sex.

Western Electric is crossing a telephone with a TV set.

What you’ll use is called, simply enough, a Picturephone set. Someday it will let you see who you are talking to, and let them see you.

The Picturephone set is just one of the communications of the future Western Electric is working on with Bell Telephone Laboratories. Western Electric builds regular phones and equipment for your Bell telephone company. But we also build for the future.

Max was Candy’s last client. She had a long work day seeing client after client for deep tissue massage. It was Candy’s relief to feel Max’s smooth muscular frame, free of tension, in her hands. She thought to herself, “I need a massage more than he does!”

Candy rubbed oil in her palms and worked her hands over Max’s sculpted back as he lay down on the massage table. She felt her temperature rising with each stroke on his bare flesh. She tried foolishly to hold back her desire as beads of moisture began to slide down her restless legs. Without a word spoken, Max suddenly wrestled Candy down on the table pinning his naked flesh on top of her as if he heard her thoughts.

“Ahhhhhh.” Candy thought. “Now that’s the spot.”

Nina Long is a seasoned phone sex operator and blogger coming from a diverse cultural background. Originating from New York City New York, Nina prides herself on having been exposed to many facets of the adult industry. She is happy to have found her passion in erotica. Her personal interests include, erotic hypnosis, voyeurism and exploring sexual fetishes.

It was a hot muggy Tuesday in July, when Kate last laid eyes on her husband. She was backing out of their driveway, thinking, “He looks relieved… Jackass.” That was 10 years ago. Kate had ditched her dull, go-no-where job as a low level insurance claims adjuster, as well as, her shiny but getting-around-everywhere husband and became an honest-to-goodness massage therapist.

Back at her tiny, newly leased apartment, she practically lunged to crank up the speed on the oscillating fan. From a box of her meager belongings, a newly single Kate pulled out a sweet pink mini-skirt and slipped it on. The fan breeze caressed her bare legs. Lifting her skirt, she allowed the air to penetrate her moist lips. She tingled and sighed. The ex hadn’t made her tingle like that in nearly three years.

She slipped her toes into the only pair of high heels she owned. It was the first time since the beginning of her marriage she’d worn a mini with heels. Her pussy was tingling, her nipples were stiffening and her apartment was in her name. Kate was emancipated.

Skip forward more than a decade and…

A free, 40-something Kate was now getting naked with as many as half a dozen guys a day. She was giving them massages of course but, she was also handing out happy endings. And with some… a whole lot more. Although she didn’t think of it in that way, Kate had become a sex worker.

Working in busy spas had quickly become tedious and much less lucrative than anticipated. When Kate struck out on her own she found that her massage ads mostly attracted men who asked about sex… directly or indirectly. So, she rolled with it.

Today, Kate found herself running her hands over the very taught body of a 27 year-old mortgage consultant who had been coming to see her every three weeks for the last six months. Ron was single, drove a new Ford Mustang , enjoyed the movie “The Notebook” and spent his spare time competing in mixed martial arts tournaments.

“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you” Ron said with extra bass in his voice . “Whatcha been up to?” Kate asked oiling up her hands and scanning the angle of his muscled V-shaped back. Ron surrendered to her touch and lamented, “Very long business trip through Virginia. I had no idea that state was so big or so hot.” Kate laughed in knowing as she pressed her hands into his muscled flesh.

Kate could feel how he drank up her silky touch. She spent extra time caressing his balls and teasing him with feather light touch along the insides of his legs and buttocks. Ron didn’t move a muscle but, Kate could feel the shift in him as the session progressed.

“OK, Ron. I’ll get you to turn over on to your back so the real fun can begin” Kate teased. Ron did as he was told. As he made himself comfortable Kate admired his nearly fully erect cock.

Kate removed her lacy pink and black bra and turned toward Ron. He’d seen her nude body many times before, but his reaction was almost always the same. “Wow” he said, “I missed you.” She giggled and began running her smooth hands over his hard member.

A certain comfort level made it natural for Ron to slowly raise his hand to Kate’s breasts and fondle them. He dragged his hand down across her belly, reached around to grab Kate’s firm bottom and give it a smack. She could feel the blood rush to her groin. Kate didn’t always get fully naked with her clients but with Ron, she couldn’t help herself. She leaned over and peeled off her bikini panties.

Kate continued to stroke Ron’s thick hard cock as he began kissing her hip. Kate felt a shiver rise up the side of her body. She leaned forward and offered him her nipple. He gladly suckled. Her pussy began to swell. She stroked him harder.

Kate withdrew her breast and Ron kissed his way downward. He began running his tongue up and down the edge of her thigh, right along the bikini line. Kate caught her breath and kept stroking. She was completely turned on by this hot young guy but, he’d never been this insistent before. She wasn’t sure she should let it continue.

Kate covered her pussy with her hand. Ron licked the side of her hand, the top of it and nuzzled it with his nose like a happy puppy. The determination and desperation of his pursuit finally got to Kate. She spread her fingers and allowed his tongue to slide between and lick her mound. Lightning shot through her!

She grabbed the back of his head. He grabbed her ass and pushed his face firmly into her softness. Kate succumbed to his warm wet tongue flicking between her lips and at her clit. It was glorious.

She pushed down the rising climax for as long as she could then allowed it to over her take her. Ron pulled away looking very self-satisfied.

Kate was still reeling as she glanced at the clock realizing they had gone way over time. Immediately, she began to finish him off with a devastating combination of her hands and mouth. He came hard, letting out an almost painfully loud groan as he did so.

They dressed in silence. Then gently Kate stated, “My next one will be here in a few minutes.” “Sure” Ron replied buckling his belt. He left a whopping tip and headed for the door. A brief hug and kiss on the cheek and he was on his way. “See ya soon” Ron said departing. “Have a good day” was Kate’s reply.

This piece of erotic flash fiction by Dyann Bridges C.M.T.: I’ve been performing bodywork for the last 17 years. This experience has lead me to form the site TheBodyHouse.biz which promotes my sensual bodywork, as well as, an accompanying sex blog for men. I like to think of it as an internet “man cave” from a female perspective. She can also be found at NiteFlirt.